On Angel's Wings 2
by Mummyluvr
Summary: Sequel to On Angel's Wings. When Sam is kidnapped again Dean goes to church, looking for some heavenly help. He finds it, and Sam finds out that he's not quite in the cult yet...
1. Chapter 1

Ah... Christmas Eve... a time for giving... THE AWESOME SEQUEL TO "ON ANGEL'S WINGS!" That's right, it's done and here, so Happy Holidays, all!

**Previously:** When we alst saw Sam and Dean... Sammy had been initiated into the evil psychic cult run by the demon and Dean had gotten wings, immortality, superhuman strength, and healing powers before the demon took them away. But why are you reading this? The actual story is MUCH mroe interesting. Go check it out!

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. You know that. So does Kripke. He laughs about it.

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**On Angel's Wings 2**

Dean sighed and bowed his head. It was supposed to have been a simple hunt. No one should have been hurt. No one should have been kidnapped. When he'd woken up alone in the park, he'd known something was wrong. His brother was gone, taken by the demon they'd been tracking.

It had taken them a month to find it after hearing about its first murder. They'd found the story in the paper the day after they'd left Nebraska. While tracking it, the brothers had hunted a few other things, small creatures really, not worth the time. Somehow, Sammy had always killed them while his brother's back had been turned.

But Sam hadn't been able to kill the demon that was possessing the teenage girl in the small Colorado town. He'd been taken after Dean had been knocked out.

Why Dean had traveled to the small mountain chapel after waking up in the park, he didn't know. He'd just felt like it was the right place to go. It would provide the peace and solitude he needed to think.

"Excuse me, young man?"

Dean looked up and turned toward the old man who had just walked into the church. "Yeah?"

"I couldn't help but notice," the knobby old guy said softly, "but you look kind of lost. Anything I can help with?"

"Doubt it."

"Well, maybe I could try," the man said, sitting in the pew beside the hunter, "I'm Father Emerson, the pastor here. Now, what's on your mind, son?"

Dean sighed. "It's my brother. I kind of lost him today, and I need to get him back before something bad happens."

"You should start looking for him."

"I wish it was that easy. It's gonna take a miracle for me to find him."

The elderly priest nodded. "Well, God works in mysterious ways. I'm sure that if you just ask for help-"

"I don't think I'm God's favorite person now," Dean said, hanging his head, "I'm not exactly a saint."

"I believe that salvation was intended for sinners," the priest smiled, standing shakily up and walking down the aisle towards the door, "ask, and you shall receive."

Dean watched the old man leave and smiled to himself. _Or,_ he thought, _tick off the man upstairs, and you shall sprout wings._ Although, what could it hurt to try?

"All right," he muttered, clasping his hands together and bowing his head, "I don't ask for much, but I'm asking now. I've done good things, and You and I both know that I deserve something, so how about you help me find Sammy one more time. No wings required, just give me an address or something. I swear, this is the last thing I'll ever ask for."

The church was eerily quiet. "Come on, You helped me out before, and I was kind of being a jerk then, so…" He paused, waiting for some sort of sign, a rogue gust of wind or a plague of minimal proportions. "I'm asking nicely this time."

Outside the little church, a car drove by, rattling and squealing its way down the street. A lone bird chirped out a happy little song, and a few scattered clouds moved in to block the sun.

"Honestly," Dean growled, "just help a guy out. I mean, it wouldn't be the first time." He waited again, but got no response. "You don't get it, do You? I _need_ to save him. He's my responsibility."

Rain began to patter softly against the church's tiny stained glass windows as a storm moved in. "All right. I get it. Ask and you shall receive. Ask _honestly_ and you shall receive. It's not my fault. I blame You. You gave me that freedom and You took it away. You gave me a way out, and let that thing strip it from me. I want it back. I _deserve_ it. You and I both know that. I never ask for anything, I never question what I do. I've wasted years of my life fighting the good fight, and all I've gotten is death. Give me what I want, and I'll never question anything again. I'll be a perfect _angel_ if it comes right down to it. Just give me my freedom back."

Lightning flashed across the sky as the pounding of the rain increased in intensity. The hunter sat in the pew, head bowed, waiting for something, _anything_. When nothing happened, he left. God had turned His back on Dean, so Dean was turning his back on God.

He walked out into the storm, turning up the collar of his jacket against the fiercely biting wind. He was headed back to the motel, where he would start his search for Sam by grabbing a map and trying to find the best possible location for a demonic hide-out. He was sidelined, though, as someone ran straight into him, knocking him flat on his butt on the rain-soaked sidewalk.

Dean glared up at the man, a blond who appeared to be in his late teens. "Sorry," the kid mumbled, holding out a hand to help the hunter up, "klutzy." He smiled warmly, blue eyes shining as Dean grabbed his hand.

The man didn't try to pull him up, though, just tightened his grip on the hunter's hand, smile widening as Dean felt an almost familiar itch at his shoulder blades. It didn't take long for the itch to turn to pain, for the sound of ripping cloth to reach the hunter's ears as his shirt tore down the back. It was a good thing he was already on the ground, otherwise he would have fallen flat on his back, probably breaking something.

As suddenly as it had appeared, the intense, burning pain was gone, replaced by a familiar weight on the his back. Something was pressing down on him, something soft being held flat under his jacket. He looked down and saw a few tatters of dark blue t-shirt on the sidewalk around him.

"What did you do to me?" Dean hissed, knowing the answer in his heart but too hopeful to admit it, too scared he might be wrong.

The blond pulled him to his feet. "Your prayers have been answered," he whispered, heading toward the church doors, "now go save your brother." The man slid one of the doors open and disappeared in front of it. He didn't walk into the church, didn't slip away unnoticed, but _dissolved_ in a flash of light, leaving Dean alone on the sidewalk.

The hunter nodded. "Right," he muttered, heading off at a quick pace to the motel. He had to check, had to be sure, and had to figure out a way to wriggle into a shirt before going after his brother, who, if the little voice in his head was telling the truth, could be found at 2121 Sycamore Lane.

o0o0o0o0o

"Moment of truth," Dean muttered as he stood in front of the motel room's tiny mirror, staring at his reflection. He tugged off the tattered remnants of his shirt and tossed them onto the sickly brown carpet.

Slowly, he shrugged off his wet jacket, holding his breath as it fell to the floor behind him. He smiled, working oddly familiar muscles to spread the wings that again sprouted from his back.

"Now that's what I'm talking about," he muttered, grabbing his duffel bag and beginning to rifle through it for scissors and an old shirt.

* * *

Well, what do you think? I promise, it gets better. 


	2. Chapter 2

All right! People found it! Good to know that my readers will come back for the sequel.

* * *

Sam looked his captor straight in the eyes. She was petite, had long brown hair and pitiless black eyes, and was smiling at her victim's current situation. As far as Sammy could tell, they were in a furnished basement, probably in some small townhouse, and he was handcuffed to a chair. Yeah, not _in_ a chair… _to_ a chair.

"You know," Sam sighed, "you might want to back off now and let me go."

"Oh?" the possessed girl grinned, her eyes never leaving Sam's, "why's that?"

"I'm pretty crummy at staring contests, and I'm a sore loser."

"What are you going to do, Sammy? Throw me across the room without lifting a finger? Pull a Houdini with TK? I know you can, and I know you want to."

"Liar," Sam snarled, though he'd already contemplated the risks and rewards that came along with using some of his newfound abilities to get out of the jam. On the one hand, he'd be free to go, and there would be one less demon in the world to worry about. Dean was bound to ask about a miraculous escape, though, and Sam wasn't exactly prepared to admit that he'd officially risen in the demonic ranks from 'supernatural freak' to 'lock him up officer, he kills with the power of his mind.'

"You know I'm telling the truth," the girl smiled, grabbing a water bottle from a near-by table and taking a swig, "we both know what you're capable of, Sam. You shouldn't fight it anymore. My father can help you control these new abilities. He can help you reach your full potential."

Sam watched her screw the cap back on her water. Oh, it was tempting. The things he'd discovered he could do over the past month… how strong he'd become. He didn't have to worry about losing his brother again, not when he could slam whatever evil they were chasing up against a wall and tear into it. And the best part was that he wasn't limited to small things anymore. Sure, the visions still came and went, but now there was telekinesis, healing, and he'd even caught snippets of Dean's thoughts in recent days. He barely had a handle on it, needed help, and couldn't turn to his brother for fear of being rejected. Maybe…

"You know you want to," she said sadly, "you know what you have to gain."

"I also know what I have to lose. My sanity. My humanity. My _family_."

"Your brother will live. Find my father, and Dean's life will be spared. The two of you can even stay together. It's all being arranged as we speak."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, suddenly focused on what the demon was saying, as opposed to breaking out of his bonds.

"Just what I said. Father's here, Sammy, and he's looking forward to a family reunion. Your brother can be part of it, if you let him. Otherwise, it might be more of a funeral."

"Just leave him out of this, or I swear-" Sam was interrupted by a loud bang above them. Both captor and captive looked up at the ceiling as heavy footfalls traced their way across the floor above.

"Stay right here," the demon scowled, stalking silently to the stairs leading out of her host's basement and heading out of the room to deal with the intruder. She wasn't gone five minutes when Dean Winchester, clad in torn jeans, a black t-shirt, and his favorite leather jacket, sauntered down the stairs and up to his brother.

"How'd you get in here?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged, moving around to his brother's back to check the restraints. "I picked the lock, and hid when your little girlfriend came looking for me."

"Think you can bust me out before she comes back?"

"Sure thing," Dean grinned, running a hand over the shiny silver surface of the cuffs, "things are rusted out. Might even be able to break them with my bare hands."

"Yeah," Sam scoffed, "that'll be the day." He was pleasantly surprised, however, to hear the sudden snap of metal, followed by the clink of the cuffs on the floor as his wrist was released from bondage.

"One more," the elder muttered, taking the chain in his hands and preparing to snap it.

"Good news, babe," a cold voice floated down the stairs, "false alarm. That means we can get back to our fun." She descended the stairs and stopped. "What are you doing here?"

"Rescuing my brother," Dean replied, smirking.

The demon walked toward them, fury apparent in her dark eyes. "I can't let you do that, Dean. I was too close to breaking him. He was almost ours."

"Back off," the hunter cautioned as she drew closer, reaching out a hand toward him. He scooped up her bottle of water from the table and popped the cap off. "I've got holy water."

Sam moaned and rolled his eyes as the demon began to laugh heartlessly. "You nitwit," she giggled, "that's not holy water. Or, at least, it wasn't holy five minutes ago, when I was drinking it."

Dean's shoulders slumped as he glanced down at his brother, who shrugged and nodded. "Well," he muttered, grabbing the remaining restraints in his free hand and snapping them easily, "gotta go!"

He yanked Sam up by the back of his jacket and pulled his from the chair, heading straight for the demon. Right before they reached the younger's captor, Dean tossed the remainder of her water on her with a flick of his wrist. She instantly began writhing in pain, flesh smoking and boiling as the hunters made their escape.

"How'd you do that?" Sam asked as they took the stairs two at a time and burst from the basement into a hallway.

"Pulled a switch-a-roo," Dean shrugged, leading his brother out of the house and into a small, middle-class housing development.

Sam was willing to believe the explanation, because there was no way Dean could have blessed that water in the time he'd had it in his hands. "All right. Where's the car?"

"The car?"

"Yes. The car. _Your_ car. The one you take everywhere with you."

"Oh," Dean nodded, "yeah. _That _car. It's back at the motel."

"Why is the car at the motel?" Sam asked, getting a sudden déjà vu vibe. They'd had this conversation before.

The elder shook his head. "I was in the neighborhood, you know, looking for you."

"Oh." _Would have hurt_. Sam stopped walking and stared at his brother. It had been Dean's voice, echoing through his head. "You all right, man?"

Dean turned to face him. "Yeah. Never better. Why?"

"No reason." _Keep them._ Sammy shook his head. He'd been getting snippets of thought for about a week, but this just didn't make sense. What would have hurt? What did Dean want to keep?

"Come on," the elder beckoned, running ahead a bit, "there's a shortcut through the park. It's how I got here in the first place."

"Why _did_ you come here?" Sam asked, suddenly curious. Out of all the housing developments in the town, why that specific one? What had tipped him off? _Voice…don't tell…won't understand…keep them._

Dean shrugged. "Lucky guess. Now get a move on. That water won't hold her forever."

Sam nodded. Snippets of his brother's thoughts were all he needed to know Dean was hiding something, obviously something big. But did he really need to call him on it? It wasn't like Sammy was being completely honest, either.

The brothers ran into the park, which was basically a large patch of grass outside the developing neighborhood. A few trees were scattered around the area, throwing shade over the Winchesters as they made their escape. Suddenly, though, Sam sensed that his brother wasn't with him.

He spun around to see Dean standing in the middle of the park, completely exposed and in the open, looking back toward the development. "Dean?" Sam called, taking a slow, cautious step toward his older brother, "you all right?"

Dean turned slowly, eyes glazed and unfocused, a large, bloody line drawn across the middle of his throat. Sam gasped and stumbled back, tripping over his own feet and falling flat on his ass as his brother's limp form fell onto the grass, revealing the demon that had been standing behind him. The demon that had killed him. The demon that didn't stand a chance against the new-and-improved Psychic Wonder.

"Nobody does that to me," she muttered coolly, stepping over Dean's body and approaching Sam.

"You killed him," Sam moaned, glancing back at his brother's limp form, at the blood coating the grass, at the long slash in his brother's neck, "you _killed _him."

"What're you gonna do, Psychic Boy? What's dead is dead. It _stays_ dead. No pretty wings to save him this time."

The demon went flying through the air to connect with the nearest tree, a few bones and some tree bark snapping upon impact. Despite the force with which she'd hit, she was smiling widely, as if she was incredibly proud of something.

"That's it, Sammy," she cooed as the hunter struggled to his feet and turned toward her, glaring daggers, "_use_ it. _Want_ it. _Feel_ it."

He stumbled toward her, careful to avoid glancing in his dead brother's direction. The last thing he needed was a reminder of what had happened, because that would lead to guilt. Yet again, Dean was dead because of him, dead because Sam was some sort of freak that every demon and his sister wanted to take and train and make their own.

"I hope you burn," he hissed, leaning close to her and forcing it on her. He could feel the energy, the _power_, seeping out of him, rolling off of him, directed at her, forcing her into the tree, snapping her bones and crushing her skull. He liked it. She deserved it.

"Make me," she whispered, words slurring as her jaw broke and her nose pushed back into her face.

Sammy grinned. Yes, _burn_ her. Wouldn't that be fun? Didn't she deserve it? She had, after all, killed the only thing he had left. She had taken everything from him, left him alone, and she deserved to suffer. There was no doubt in his mind that he could do it, too, make her burn up, right then and there. Hell, he could probably send half of this stupid little town with her. The potential was there, untapped, but bubbling closer to the surface with each passing day, each use of his abilities. It flowed through his veins, filled him with energy. It-

_Sammy?_

Sam stopped, blinking hard at the limp form of the girl now pressed deep into the trunk of the tree. She was little more than a mass of jelly, flesh and skin and blood, full of broken fragments of bones.

"Wassa metta? Finis it," the demon muttered through a mouthful of broken teeth. It was a stolen mouth, belonging to some pretty, college-aged girl. She'd been innocent. Now, she was most certainly dead. Sam had killed her.

_What?_

He backed off, stepping away from the demon. Her unhinged jaw fell farther towards her dilapidated chest, her mouth opening in a large grimace as the demon took its leave, escaping into the cloudy sky as the girl it had been inhabiting slumped to the ground.

Raising a shaking hand to his head, Sammy turned back to the spot where his brother lay. His knees buckled and gave way under his weight as the realization of what he was seeing hit him full-force.

Dean was sitting up on the grass, looking over his shoulder at Sam. One hand was clamped over the long gash in his neck. He stood up and made his way toward his fallen brother. "Sammy, you all right?"

Sam nodded weakly, reaching up and pulling Dean's hand away from his throat. The skin was clear. There was no sign that he'd been killed, that his throat had been viciously cut.

"Come on," Dean muttered, grabbing Sammy's limp arm and pulling the younger man to his feet with surprising ease. "You need to lie down. We'll get you back to the motel."

He started off out of the park, supporting Sam with one arm. The younger man turned back to the spot where his brother had fallen as they left, and almost collapsed again. The grass had turned a deep crimson around the spot the body had rested. That wasn't what concerned Sammy, though. No, it was the large, stunningly white feathers that littered the ground that shocked him the most.


	3. Chapter 3

All right. Time for chapter three. Thanks again for all the reviews, guys!

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"That demon was talking about the cult," Sam said, turning around in his chair to face Dean, who was laying on his stomach on the bed and flipping channels on the TV.

"The cult from a month ago?" Dean asked, barely even glancing at his brother.

Sam nodded, turning back to the laptop. "At first I thought it must have been reading my mind or something, you know, just trying to freak me out. But it makes sense that they'd be following me."

"I thought you wiped them all out," Dean muttered, clicking off the TV and sliding off the bed to stand behind his brother, "why would they come looking for you? If you did it once, you can do it again."

Sammy shrugged. "I'm not sure, but they still want me. She tried to get me to join up."

"But she wasn't psychic, just possessed."

"So was Meg. Maybe this one was a messenger or something, or a warning. Dean, she tried to kill you."

"But she didn't," the elder pointed out, "barely even knicked me with that knife before she went flying. You wouldn't happen to know how…?"

Sam shook his head. "Maybe the girl started fighting back. The point is, they're dangerous. I think we should leave town."

"There's no evidence to say that those freaks followed us, Sammy. We watched our backs, made sure we didn't leave a trail, so unless they've got some kind of human GPS, I think we're safe."

"We're far from safe," Sam muttered, pulling up a webpage and showing it to his brother. "I think they've got a dowser working for them."

"A what?"

"Dowser."

"Like the rods?"

Sam shrugged. "Kind of. It's a psychic ability. The rods are used to locate water or spirits. But the people in the cult have some major mojo backing those powers of theirs, so-"

"So it's possible that someone's been tracking us since we left Nebraska, is that what you're saying?"

"I'm just saying we need to be careful, especially you."

Dean nodded, flopping belly-first back onto his bed. "Yeah, all right. You know what we need to do, right?"

"Find the dowser and kill it. It's the only way we can escape."

"I was thinking more along the lines of killing the actual demon. That way, no more psychic cult."

Sam gulped. "Uh, maybe we should hold off on that one. I mean, the last time we faced that thing, it didn't exactly turn out too good."

Dean shrugged. "We'll be more careful this time. I mean, we're gonna have to go after the damned thing _sometime_, right?"

Slowly, Sam nodded. He couldn't possibly argue, couldn't disagree unless he was willing to tell the truth, and the truth was bad. The truth was, killing the demon would kill everyone in the cult, and, technically, Sam was a member. No matter what, they couldn't go after that demon, not yet.

o0o0o0o0o

Dean glanced at the clock. Two in the morning. Perfect.

Groaning, he slid backwards out of the bed, careful not to roll onto his back, which was already sore. He glanced over at Sam, fast asleep in the other bed, and sighed. Sammy was scared, really believed the cult was in town and looking for him, and had already packed up their few belongings and loaded them into the trunk of the car. He'd wanted to leave that night, but Dean hadn't let him. His back was already aching from keeping his wings pressed against his body, and he didn't like the idea of trying to sit in his car and drive all night.

So, here they were, in a crummy motel room in some no-name town in Colorado, everything they owned shoved into two duffel bags and locked in the trunk of the car, salt lining every possible entrance into the room they shared. And the next day? Well, there was a lot of driving ahead of them. Nothing easy, either. No, they'd be pushing seventy around the mountain curves, Sam would insist upon it.

Dangerous as that plan was, Dean wouldn't argue it. If Sam wanted to sign his own death warrant, so be it. It wasn't like either of them could get hurt, not with Dean in his current condition.

Besides, Sammy'd been freaking out lately, and if testing the Impala's limits on mountain roads would calm him down, then that was what they'd have to do.

Sighing, Dean adjusted his jacket, figuring that it would be safer to keep it pulled tightly over his wings until he was behind the motel and out of sight. If all went well, he could slip away unnoticed, get his flying kick for the week, and be back in the room before Sam even woke up. It was a good plan.

He pulled open the door and stepped into the cool night air, fresh as ever as it rolled over the surrounding mountains and into the small town. Dean hadn't even gotten the chance to pull the door shut behind him when something heavy smashed against the side of his head, knocking him to the ground.

o0o0o0o0o

"Good morning sunshine."

Sam groaned and opened his eyes. That hadn't been his brother's voice. Dean wasn't in his bed. Instead, a knobby old man sat across from the psychic, smiling. "Father Emerson?" Sammy asked, a bit confused.

"Oh, please, Sam," the old man said, "call me Charles. I'm not a priest. I'd expect you to know that by now."

Sam blinked groggily. "Where's Dean?"

"Oh, he's with Claire and our father. I must say, he gave us quite a scare last night. I hit him just a bit too hard, see, and there was something that looked like grey matter. Oh, we thought he was a goner for sure before he started breathing again. Well, we tied him up as he came to, and Claire fixed that hole in his head up nice."

"Claire? I thought she-"

"Barely got away," Emerson nodded, "she was with me when it happened, actually. Father had given her the night off for a job well done. As soon as your brother started attacking him she left. She wanted to spread the word, to tell me that our plan had worked."

"What plan?" Sam asked, still not comprehending what the old man was saying. It was too early to think properly.

"Why, the plan that we whipped up before she went into the basement to heal him, of course. She would trick him into believing that she was still just an innocent little girl, when really she was leading him right to his demise. The skylight, the railing post, his death. It was perfect, until you realized what you could do."

As his brain started to work and process, Sam sat up in bed. "It's you, isn't it? You're the dowser?"

Emerson nodded happily. "Tracked you boys for quite some time before we finally decided to confront you. Do you know why that is, Sammy?"

"Why?"

"Conditions are perfect here," the old man grinned.

"Perfect for what?"

"Your full initiation, of course."

Sam shook his head. "I don't want anything to do with you freaks."

"Oh, now, don't say that. We've been watching you, Sam. You like what you can do now, like it so much more than you let on. We can help you increase that power, bring you into your full abilities. You'll be so strong. Just come with me, and we can make it happen."

"And what if I don't? Where's Dean?"

Emerson's grin turned evil. "You'll want to come with me, Samuel."


	4. Chapter 4

As always, here's another reply, and thanks for all of the wonderful reviews!

* * *

It really was a gorgeous backdrop. Tall green grass, healthy trees, clear blue sky, and a majestic gorge opening up in the middle of the field. At one point in time, a small river had carved the line into the ground, but the river was long gone, and the bottom of the chasm was nothing but hard-packed brown dirt.

"We waiting for something?" Dean asked as he gazed over the cavern.

"Your brother," Claire muttered, leaning up against the thick tree her prisoner was tied to.

"Oh," Dean grinned, "like a reunion, huh?"

"More like a funeral."

"The old guy kicked it last night?"

Claire sighed, whipping her head around to face the man she'd shackled to the tree. "You really are an idiot, you know."

Dean stared at her. "You used to be such a nice girl. What happened?"

"I was initiated into the cult," the grinned, "it changed me."

"But you said-"

"I lied. It happens. Get used to it."

"Is there a particular reason you tied me to a tree?" Dean asked, squirming a little. He'd had that damned jacket on all day and night, and his back was practically burning with the sharp pain that came from keeping his wings pressed up against his body.

"Leverage."

"Again? Honey, we've been down this road, and it doesn't work too well."

"Things have changed," Claire smirked, "you're not immortal anymore, and it's a long way to the bottom, sweetheart."

Dean opened his mouth, about to fire off some stupid remark, when the sound of soft footsteps treading through the long grass reached his ears. Sure enough, Sam came into view less than a minute later, followed closely by Emerson.

"See," the old man was saying, "he's fine. _Now_."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sam asked, half-turning to the older man, but careful to keep his eyes on his brother.

Emerson grinned. "Claire, honey, why don't you explain."

"Gladly," the healer cooed, standing up and stretching before moving to her captive and untying him. She took a handful of jacket (and, unknowingly, feathers), and marched Dean to the edge of the gorge.

"Oh," Dean said, glancing nervously back at Sam, "_that's_ what he means."

"Don't do it," Sammy pleading, taking a cautious step forward.

"Join us," Claire grinned, "and we won't have to."

Sam glared at the healer, then turned his attention back to Emerson. There was no doubt in his mind that he could take them both out, but that would mean revealing what he could do to his brother, and he had no idea how the older man would take it. However, to just stand there and gape at the other psychics wouldn't do Dean much good, either.

_Trust…plan._

Sam jumped, a little startled by the sudden invasion into his mind. Of course, it wasn't _his_ mind being invaded, it was Dean's. Sam was doing the invading.

He stared at his brother, who was looking back at him. Dean winked. Well, that settled it. He had a plan, obviously, and Dean's plans had always worked _so_ well in the past.

"Come on," Emerson urged, "you know you want our help. You want to see how far you can push this."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sam lied, trying to buy himself some time as he weighed his options.

"Don't be silly, Sammy. You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about. Precognition is just the tipity-top of your iceberg. Telekinesis, telepathy, even healing. That's right, Sam, we know who it was that revived your brother after you destroyed our home. There was no divine intervention. It was _you_."

Claire pushed Dean a little closer to the ledge. "Bet you didn't know your brother was a freak, did you? Bet you didn't know he'd been initiated, huh? Bet you didn't know we wouldn't let him go without a fight?"

Dean gazed over the edge. "Well, no, but, then again, I'm a bit slow. Things need to be spelled out."

"How about this," she smiled, "if your brother doesn't agree to come with us, you're gonna be heading over this cliff. You'll never survive the fall. Every bone in your pathetic body will be broken, and then we'll take your brother, and we'll bend him and break him and make him _just like us_. That simple enough for you?"

"Yeah, I think I've got it now."

"What'll it be, Sam?" Emerson asked, "you can save your brother a lot of pain if you come peacefully."

_Plan. _Dean was staring at him again, with some sort of weird light in his eyes. He had a plan, and he knew he could pull it off. And if he couldn't? Well, call it a last request…

"No," Sam said, shaking his head slowly, "I'm not like you. I'll never be."

"Fine by us," Claire smirked, pushing her captive over the drop before turning back to the guys. "Now, we sit back and wait for the thump."

"You've made this harder on yourself, Sam," Emerson muttered, patting the younger man on the back.

"Any minute now," Claire sighed, glancing over her shoulder, "I mean, there'll be _some_ sort of noise. There has to be."

The three psychics stood waiting for almost a minute by the cliff, straining their ears for even the slightest sound. When nothing came, they moved closer to the drop-off. Standing at the edge, looking down, the group gasped.

"Where is he?" Claire asked angrily, scanning the dirt floor of the gorge, "he should be there!" Sam just grinned as a large cloud of dust billowed up within the crevasse, blocking their view of the ground. "_Where is he?_"

"Right here, sweetheart," Dean yelled, suddenly flying up in front of them and reaching out to grab a fistful of Sam's shirt.

Sammy yelped and grabbed for his brother's arm as his feet lifted off the ground. He glanced briefly back down at the two psychics before finally realizing what had happened. "You…" he began, eyes going wide as he finally saw what was keeping them in the air.

"I guess both our little secrets are out now, huh, Sammy?" Dean smirked as he headed off to the motel. It was definitely time to get out of town.

o0o0o0o0o

The brothers set down behind the motel less than ten minutes after narrowly escaping the clutches of the remaining cult members. Sam had to peek around the side of the building to make sure no one was out on the desolate road leading from the building back into town before Dean could slide up beside him with the room key.

"You know," Sam muttered, glancing constantly over his shoulder as his brother struggled with the automated lock, "a smart person would have kept hold of his jacket before that daring rescue."

"Forgive me if I'm not freakin' Einstein," Dean muttered, still struggling, "dammit, how fast do you have to swipe these things?"

Sammy grinned. "Here, let me help." He threw one last glance at the road before stepping around to his brother's side. His help wasn't required, though, as Dean finally got the lock to click.

"See, I got it," he smirked, pulling the door open.

Dean had one foot in the room before the explosion went ripping through the motel, blowing him back in a puff of smoke, fire, glass, and debris. Sam was shoved to the side by the heat and went sprawling on his back in time to see his brother go flying through the air, spiraling, blood trailing a long line after him.

Time seemed to slow as Dean hit the ground hard and went rolling across the parking lot, finally coming to a stop in the middle of the blacktop, neck twisted, blood pooling beneath him, wings spread out like a blanket over his body as various pieces of busted-up motel furniture rained down around him.

Sammy sat up, leaning heavily against the hot outer wall of the motel for support. Black smoke billowed into the bright blue sky above him as he gazed across the lot at his brother's limp form. Slowly, Sam crawled across the blacktop toward his brother, listening for sirens in the distance. He was about halfway to Dean's body when the older man sat up, head lolling limply on an obviously broken neck.

"Dammit," Dean rasped, sitting up on his knees and snapping his neck back into place. He turned to Sam, who abruptly fell back on his butt and gasped. "What?"

"G-glass," Sammy stuttered.

Dean glanced down and sighed. Slowly, he began plucking the long shards of glass out of his chest and neck. "Thought they used safety glass nowadays," he muttered, struggling with a particularly long piece that was lodged in his throat. "Lend a hand over here, Sammy?"

"You want me to pull a piece of glass out of your neck?"

"No," Dean shook his head, finally dislodging the long shard and frowning at the steady stream of blood that began coating his shirt and jeans, "just get my face. And hurry it up, we gotta get out of here before anyone shows up."

Sam didn't move, just sat on the ground, staring at his brother.

"Fine," Dean groaned, slapping a hand over his bleeding throat and struggling to his feet, "ignore your dying brother." He took a cautious step toward the burning motel before shrugging and walking up to his brother. He let go of his neck and held out a blood-soaked hand. "Don't be a sissy. Let me help you up."

Sam inspected the hand for a moment before literally turning his nose up at it. "No way. There's broken glass in your palm."

Dean seemed genuinely surprised and began working the glass out of his hand. "What do you know, there is. Would have served you right, not helping me clean up my perfect face and all."

Sammy snorted, climbing to his feet. "Play Narcissus later. Right now we've got to get out of here."

"I am _not _narcissistic!"

"Could have fooled me."

Dean gave up on his hand and crept closer to the doorway to their room. "Something caused this."

"Subject-changer."

"Seriously, Sam," Dean shot back, turning to face his brother, "it was rigged to explode. We're just lucky we're the only two stupid enough to stay in a fleabag like this."

"You think the cult did it? You think they tried to kill me?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Super Psychic Boy. They figured you'd be going along with them today. You weren't supposed to be here, but _I_ was."


	5. Chapter 5

Won't be an update tomorrow, guys. I've got a family thing. Hopefully this'll tide you over till I can post chapter 6!

* * *

The bathroom door opened slowly and Dean trudged out, rubbing a hand lazily over his face as he crossed the hotel room.

Sam turned from his laptop, worry apparent on his face. "You OK?"

Dean sighed, wings drooping as his shoulders slumped. "I just spent the last half hour in a bathroom pulling glass out of my face," he stated flatly, "how would you be?"

Sammy cringed. After the motel they'd been staying in had blown up, the brothers had searched (ok, Dean had searched from the sky, and Sam had followed in the car) for a new place to crash. They'd found a fairly ritzy hotel, and Sam had been sure to grab a room with a window and balcony when he'd checked in. Somehow, he'd figured, the site of a bloody, glass-covered man with wings walking through the lobby would start a panic. "Did it hurt?"

"Not really," Dean muttered, sauntering over to the small table, "freaky as hell to watch, though."

"What'd you do with the glass?"

"Ate it."

Sam's eyes widened as his mouth fell involuntarily open. "_What_?"

"Kidding, Sammy, kidding. I tossed it in the trashcan. Man, you need to lighten up."

"Kind of hard to do," Sam shot back, "considering what just happened."

Dean shrugged. "It's not a big deal, Sam. So they rigged the room to explode. It's not like I can die, and you were out of the way, so-"

"It's a very big deal," the younger argued, "Dean, they know that you're… _you know_ again. They found a way to kill you last time, they can do it again. They're gonna try to use you to get to me."

"That reminds me," the angel said softly, staring over his brother's shoulder at a webpage on angels, "why _do _they want you? I mean, they tried to get you last time, and you completely destroyed their headquarters, killed most of them… why come back and try again?"

"You heard the psychos," Sam sighed, hanging his head, "I'm in. The demon… back in that mansion last month, after it had shoved that pole through you… it came up, and it… you know."

Dean nodded. "So, you're in. What's that mean? Those freaky death visions of yours finally stop, or they come with an on/off switch or something now?"

"Actually," Sam muttered, holding out his hand toward a pop can on the far side of the table. The can slid over the wooden surface and into the hunter's palm. "It means that."

"Dude," Dean gushed, grinning, "that is _so_ cool!" Sammy shot him an annoyed glance. "Um, in a freaky, twisted, evil, demonic sorta way, that is."

Sam shook his head. "That's not all, though. Back in that mansion, after the demon took those wings, I was the one who brought you back. I healed you. And for the past month or so I've been catching snippets of people's thoughts, yours included."

The older man just nodded. "Ok. So, you really are Super Psychic Boy now. So much for my 'angels are special' kick."

"That's still not all."

"This just keeps getting better and better."

"Emerson said they want me back for _full_ initiation. Any idea what that means?"

"You tell me, you're the telepath," Dean muttered, sitting back on one of the beds and burying his face in his hands.

Sam sighed and turned back to the laptop. He hadn't really been searching for anything, besides something to do. He needed to keep his mind as far away from the cult as possible.

Dean's head shot up suddenly. "Dude, I just got it."

"Got what? Wait, do you know something about the cult that I don't?"

"No," the elder grinned, "but I think I know how to find out."

o0o0o0o0o

Charles Emerson walked through the door of his tiny apartment fully expecting to get ambushed. He knew that someone was lying in wait for him, could sense two presences, but had no idea who the intruders really were. Something was blocking him.

He wasn't too surprised, though, to find Sam and Dean Winchester standing in his small living room. "How'd you get in here?" he asked, eyeing the brothers as he set his groceries down and took a seemingly cautious step back toward a very special drawer.

Dean shrugged, tossing a small plastic rock in the aging psychic's direction. "You put your Hide-A-Key rock by the door to your third-floor apartment. It wasn't too hard."

"You need to leave."

"Not until you tell us what we want to know," Sam said.

"If you know what's good for you," Emerson began, edging closer to the drawer, "you'll leave while you still can."

"Is that a threat?" Dean asked, taking a step forward.

"As a matter of fact, Flyboy," the old psychic grinned, pulling out the small gun he kept in the dresser drawer and pulling the trigger three times, "it is." He threw the now-empty and useless gun to the side and bolted for his bedroom as Dean Winchester's bloodied corpse fell to the ground.


	6. Chapter 6

I'm back with another update!

* * *

Sam watched as his brother's body slumped to the ground in slow motion, three precise bullet holes dripping blood as the older man's eyes rolled back into his head. One of the shots had hit his heart and traveled straight through his jacket, the bullet embedding itself in the wall behind him.

It wasn't fair. What right did that old coot have to take Sam's only family away? Even if Dean was immortal… but was he? Or had it been a special gun? Something devised by the demon to rid the world of everything good and holy. It was possible, more than possible, even. Dean Winchester was dead, and his death would be avenged.

Because revenge was sweet.

The bedroom door slammed shut, pulling Sam out of his thoughts. He pulled his eyes from Dean's body and turned to the door as the few paintings on the walls began to vibrate. Furniture shook and the glass in the windows rattled as the young psychic began to mull over every aspect of the dowser's demise. It would have to be painful and drawn-out. Yeah, that was best, slow and horrifically bloody.

He strode purposefully toward the closed bedroom door, paintings falling from the walls and furniture buckling behind him. He could feel the power welling up within him, totally under his control, and it was a good feeling. He was in charge of something in his life for once, and it just felt _right._

Oh, yes. Revenge was _very_ sweet.

The wooden door buckled and blew inward before Sam even had a chance to reach for the handle. Emerson was cowering in a corner, trying to make himself as small as possible, but nothing could save him. He had killed a Winchester, and he was going to pay the price.

The old man flew across the room, head slamming through a large window, before getting pulled the other way by an invisible force. He slammed up against the wall, head cracking loudly as blood ran down his face, settling into the lines time had drawn.

Surprisingly, the older psychic smiled. "That's right," he cooed, "it feels good, doesn't it. Hurting people."

Sam leaned in close to the old man. "I don't know what you're talking about. You killed my brother, and now I'm killing you. There's nothing good about that."

"That's what you're saying, but you don't mean it. You _enjoy_ this, boy. You need to embrace it. Become what you were meant to be, Sammy. Become one of us."

Sam backed off, glaring daggers at the twisted man. "I'm not like you. I don't kill for fun. I kill for vengeance. I'm killing for Dean."

"You're killing because you are a killer," Emerson grinned, "and with each passing day the urge grows stronger. Each use of those abilities brings you closer."

"Shut up."

"_Make_ me."

The young man's lips twitched up into a snarl as he simultaneously pushed and pulled at the old man with him mind. Emerson let out a little yelp as tendons and ligaments ripped and bones popped out of sockets. Blood began to pour forth from his pores as Sam increased the force of his attack.

It felt good to watch the old man suffer, knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop the attack, no way to ease the pain he was feeling. Dean had died quick, probably too quick to feel anything other than a minor sting, but that didn't keep his younger brother from taking solace in watching the hunter's murderer suffer.

He would have kept on pulling and pushing, ripping and shredding, enjoying the show and marveling at the strength of his own abilities, which had once been so weak and useless, had a warm hand not wrapped firmly around Sam's arm and pulled him back. The young psychic turned to see his brother standing beside him, a pained expression on his face, three bloody holes still marring his otherwise perfect body.

"That's enough, Sammy," Dean said quietly, almost soothing, "that's enough."

"He killed you," Sam snarled, not even sure why he was still so mad, wondering if the angel could feel the hate radiating from his mind.

"No. Sam, let him go."

"How can you sound so calm? You've got three holes in your chest! He wanted to kill you!"

"He was trying to get you mad. He wanted this, Sammy. Now let him go, and we'll find out what we need."

Dean's face was calm, almost devoid of emotion, but his eyes were stern. Reluctantly, still wanting, no, _needing_ to taste the old man's blood, Sammy backed down. Emerson's body slumped and slid slowly down the wall, trailing a thick stream of blood behind it as he slipped out of consciousness.

"Oh, no you don't," Dean announced, striding easily past his brother and placing his hands on the fallen psychic, one on the wound on his head, the other on his chest. His hands began to glow with an eerily familiar golden light. Standing back and watching his older brother work, Sam found that his anger melted away almost completely.

Almost, but not quite. See, Dean had stolen his kill, was actually _healing_ his kill. Was Sam really gonna stand for that? Was he gonna let some stupid angel upstage him like that?

All of his questions would have to remain unanswered, the psychic saw, as Emerson suddenly began to choke and buck on the floor. The wound he'd sustained being pushed through the window had completely healed, but his body was still broken, and Dean had placed both hands on the old man's chest just before he'd started convulsing.

"What is it?" Sam asked, taking a cautious step forward.

"I dunno," Dean muttered through gritted teeth, trying to keep hold of the thrashing psychic, "like he's having a seizure."

Emerson kept jumping around, arms and legs flying as his eyes snapped open to reveal something dark swimming underneath. Not demon-dark, but definitely evil. His skin began to boil, flesh bubbling as the old body contorted with pain and the man cried out loudly.

Without even thinking, Sam reached forward and grabbed his brother by the shoulders, pulling him away from the dying old man. As soon as Dean's hands had left him, Emerson's fit stopped. An evil grin spread across his bloodied face and he began to sit up.

He stopped half-way, though, and grabbed at his chest, gasping and staring up at the brothers with wide, shocked eyes. He fell back onto the floor with a soft gurgling noise, bouncing once more before falling still.

"What the hell was that?" Sam whispered.

"Heart attack," Dean mumbled in reply, "I think he just had a heart attack."

o0o0o0o

He let the warm water run over him, washing away blood and sweat. He was still angry. Angry at Dean. Angry at himself. Emerson, Claire, the demon. He was angry at them all. He had wanted the old man all to himself, wanted to see just how much he could take, just how long the aging psychic could hold out before his body gave out and revenge could be had. The demon and the cult had given him the chance. Dean had taken it away.

It had crossed his mind since getting back to the room that maybe if he'd kept in touch with Claire, or if that demon had told him what was going to happen at that apartment, he would have been able to prevent it. Maybe he would have finished Emerson off a little quicker, maybe he would have attacked Dean to keep him down longer.

He was sure about one thing, though. The demon had let him attack the old psychic to test his abilities, and Dean had stopped him. Dean didn't have the right to take that away.

Sam turned off the water and stood in the hotel room's small shower for a moment, dripping. The angel shouldn't have spoiled his fun, and Sammy was gonna make sure he paid.

o0o0o0o0o

Chin resting in his hands, wings twitching slightly as he thought, Dean Winchester stared at the wall. It was very interesting, really. Some weird pinkish-green color. Like girly vomit, or one of Sam's more interesting outfits. It definitely warranted further investigation, but that would have to wait for later. Right now, there were more pressing matters to consider.

Like Emerson. Yeah, that was definitely more important than some oddly colored wallpaper. The events surrounding his death, for example, required a lot of thought. Whatever Sam had done in those few minutes when Dean had been out, it hadn't been good.

And that wasn't good like 'A+ on a paper' good. No, it was like 'wings and halo' good.

It had been evil, evil coming off the taller man in waves that his brother had felt the minute he'd woken up. It had been primal rage strong enough to rattle the very walls of the apartment. Worse yet, Sammy hadn't seemed to be able to shake that anger off. Dean could still feel it.

But Sam wasn't the only thing that warranted thought. No, Emerson himself could probably take up a good chunk of valuable time. A reasonable question, for example, would be something like 'what the heck was up with _that_?'

The angel had seen something swimming beneath the surface of the old man's consciousness, behind his eyes, just under his face. He had felt it. It was evil, not like Sammy's, but smart, dangerous, _trained_. And it had been fighting to stay in.

The door to the bathroom opened suddenly and Sam stepped into the room. "You all right?" he asked, striding purposefully over to the duffel bag that had been thrown onto a chair and rummaging through it.

Dean suppressed a shudder as wave of anger washed across the room. It was still there, still radiating from his little brother for no apparent reason, and it scared him. "Yeah, sure," he muttered, still staring at the wall, "just thinking."

"About today?"

"Yeah. I mean, what was up with that? That guy shouldn't have died."

Sam stopped his rummaging and Dean felt something like pleasure wash over him. Oh, crap, what was this? Some new stupid girly power that came with the wings? Honestly, sometimes he just felt like his life was freakin' joke and God was laughin' it up with His pals.

"No," Sam said, "he was supposed to die. He needed to pay."

"Dude, for the last time, I'm fine. I got shot, I got back up, and I accidentally wasted the guy with my freaky glowy angel hands."

Indifference. Sam didn't care anymore that he'd been killed, only that he _had_ killed. Suddenly, Dean got it, the feeling was more than apparent as Sam walked up behind him. He'd stolen his brother's kill. Immortality hadn't mattered in the end. What had mattered was murder. Cold-blooded murder. And Sammy had tried to commit it.

"Hey, Dean?" Sam was right beside him, but Dean was little distracted, what with just finding out that something was majorly wrong with his brother.

"Yeah?"

"Could you look at me?"

Dean turned to face him, shocked to find himself looking up into cold, pitiless eyes that could hardly belong to the Sam Winchester he knew. "Why, Sammy?"

Sam grinned. "I want to see the look in your eyes."

"What look?"

That was when Sam pulled the hatchet from behind his back and struck out at his brother, the blade connecting with Dean's chest with a loud _thwap_, sending blood splattering onto the wallpaper. His grin widened as Dean looked up at him, hurt and pain and disbelief all fighting for control in the older man's dark eyes.

The psychic pushed out at the angel with his mind, digging the blade deeper into his chest, cracking ribs and sternum and only stopping once he was sure he'd hit Dean's heart. The pained look disappeared as the angel's eyes closed and Sammy pulled the hatchet out, rearing back to strike again… and again… and again…


	7. Chapter 7

Short chapter, but it should do until I get #8 up here.

* * *

The world swam back into focus slowly, but it didn't take Dean long to realize that he was outside and someone was holding roughly onto his arms to keep him grounded. He recognized the area with the long grass and large trees almost immediately. It was the same gorge he'd been pushed off earlier that day.

"What happened?" he asked groggily, glancing down at his chest and finding nothing out of the ordinary. Not even a scratch where his brother had buried a hatchet in him.

A tall man with jet black hair and piercing blue eyes walked into view from behind a large tree, smiling maniacally the whole time. He approached Dean slowly, seeming to savor the moment. "Psychic Sammy took an axe," he hissed, eyes gleaming, "gave his brother forty whacks. When he saw what he had done, thought he'd make it forty-one."

"Oh, well that really clears things up," Dean nodded, "thanks."

That stupid, evil grin never left the man's face, even as his eyes turned from deep blue to sickly yellow. "Good. Glad you're catching on. Claire and I were worried you wouldn't get it so soon. We thought maybe you'd just figure Sammy'd been possessed."

"He's not?"

"Oh, no no no no. Not possessed," the demon cooed, moving closer, "it's so much better than that. It's permanent. Nothing can help."

"You mind telling me what's going on, then?"

"Claire, take it away."

Dean was yanked around to face to the raven-haired beauty that was holding his arms. "It's simple, Dean. Sam's going through a few changes. It's perfectly normal for people like him. It happened to Emerson, it happened to me, it happened to the rest of the cult. He's _turning_. He's giving in to his nature. He's becoming like us. He's becoming a killer. It's almost done."

"Almost?" Dean asked, scanning the trees for any sign of his brother.

"He won't be fully initiated until he passes the final test," Claire explained, "and we need your help for that."

"I'm almost scared to ask, but why-"

"Sammy," the demon called, looking back through the trees, "can you come out here? We need to talk."

A dark figure moved fluidly out from behind the trees, brushing long hair out of his eyes. A fierce smirk was plastered across his face as he joined the group. "Hey there, Deanster. You all right?"

"Great," Dean replied, more than just a little unnerved by the malicious gleam in his little brother's cold eyes, "like the first guy to die in a horror movie."

The demon smiled. "Sammy here needs to pass his final test to be fully initiated," it explained, pulling a wickedly sharp machete out of a sheath at its side, "do you know what you need to do, Sam?"

Merciless green eyes scanned the weapon hungrily. "I can guess."

The creature's smile widened. "You need to kill your family. You need to kill your brother. Think you can do that for me, sport?"

Sam thought about it, glancing from the large knife to Dean and back again, before shaking his head sadly. "No, sir, I can't."

"Why not?" it questioned silkily, "don't you want to come into these powers? Don't you want to find out what you can really do? To get a chance to become what you were born to be? Sam, don't you want to join us now?"

"I do. More than anything, I do, sir, but…"

"But what?"

"I can't kill him."

"Why not?" the demon challenged, "he stole your kill. He tried to save that wicked old man, the one we set aside just for you. Don't you want revenge?"

"I do, sir, but I just can't kill him. See, he's immortal right now. He can't die. I can't do it. No one can."

The demon nodded, turning to face the angel and truly inspecting him for the first time that day. "So he is. We'll just have to fix that, won't we?" It held out its hand toward Dean, taking great pleasure in the fact that the hunter flinched away at the simple movement, the memory of their last encounter obviously still fresh in his mind.

"On second thought," it muttered, putting its hand down and turning back to Sam, "I think I'll let you do the honors, son."

"Can I?"

"Of course." The demon grinned and tossed over the machete. "Cut off his wings, and he'll lose his powers. He won't be immortal anymore. You can kill him."

Sam glanced down at the weapon, a large, wicked grin working its way across his face. "Perfect," he whispered, taking a step toward his restrained brother.

"One more thing," the demon said, "it has to be a real kill. Far more interesting to watch, and a lot bloodier. Claire, let him go."

"Won't he run?" the healer asked, loosening her grip on the captive.

"His brother's with us. Nothing he does can change that now. He'll stay and fight, or we'll hunt him down, tie him up, and make sure Sammy here gets initiated anyway. Let him go. I want to see what he does."

Claire shrugged and released Dean, who immediately spread his wings and took off toward the cliff. He dove down into the gorge, folding his wings onto his body and trying unsuccessfully to come up with a plan as the ground came rushing up at him. If nothing else, he figured that Sam wouldn't be stupid enough to follow him down into the gorge. He never saw the psychic come sliding in after him.


	8. Chapter 8

Hmm... are alerts down again? I sure hope so. If not, this story's popularity has really taken a nosedive!

* * *

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Sam shouted as he stopped sliding down the gravelly side of the gorge and landed on his feet on level ground. He scoured the rocky landscape, but the angel was nowhere to be found. A silent shadow, too large to be that of a bird, passed overhead and Sammy grinned. "That's more like it," he muttered, following the shadow's dark track.

"Come on out and fight like a man, you freak," Sam yelled as the shadow disappeared around a slight bend. He took off at a run after it to find Dean standing there, staring at him.

"You've gotta fight it, man," the angel urged, "this isn't you."

"It is now," Sam grinned, taking a step forward, "and you're just gonna have to deal with that." He ran forward, slashing out with the machete and slicing a neat little line in his brother's hand as Dean reached out to stop the blow.

"Come on, Sammy," he pleaded, "you _know_ me."

"You're not my brother," the psychic hissed, "just some freak with wings who needs to die." He pulled his weapon back, running his fingers lightly along the edge and smiling at the amount of fresh blood he'd drawn from his enemy.

"All right," Dean nodded, "have it your way." He took off, heading toward the sky, holding onto his hand to stop the bleeding and working through the closest thing to a plan he had been able to come up with in the short time between waking up at the gorge and talking to his brother. If he could work fast enough, he might just be able to save Sam.

Sammy smirked as he watched his brother try to escape. He chucked the machete up after the angel, guiding it with his mind so that it hit Dean square in the back, right between his wings.

The hunter cried out once before his body went limp and he fell to the canyon floor, landing on his stomach, long knife sticking straight up out of his spine.

Sam grinned broadly as he approached his brother. The shot obviously wouldn't be enough to kill him permanently, but it had taken the older man out of the game long enough for Sammy to hack off those stupid wings. He leaned over the unmoving body and yanked the machete from his brother's back, savoring the noise it made as it ripped through bone and flesh.

"Time to say good-bye, Flyboy," Sam hissed as he prepared to strike. He never saw his brother's eyes snap open, didn't see the older man's foot kick out until it had already hit his ankle and sent him sprawling to the ground.

"Not today, Sammy," Dean moaned as he worked himself into a sitting position, working his hand awkwardly around to his back to feel the gash that had formed there. Thankfully, nothing important had been severed.

The angel gained his feet and staggered over to his brother. He bent down to grab the machete, but didn't get the chance as Sam slammed the blade up through his stomach. Blood dripped slowly from the older man's mouth and onto the psychic as he retracted the blade, grinning wickedly.

Dean stumbled backward, grabbing onto a large boulder for support as the world swam around him. He wasn't going to pass out, though, refused to die. If he did, it would give Sam just the chance he needed to actually go in for the kill. He watched his brother get up, still grinning like a man possessed. Sammy walked purposefully forward as his brother's strength slowly returned.

Without wasting a moment, Dean spread his wings and headed back up towards the safety of the sky, lingering so close to the wall of the gorge that his stomach was almost scraping it. He would have gotten away, too, been able to fly up into the blinding glare of the sun before turning around and diving for his brother with sunlight as his cover, had the boulder not flown suddenly through the air to connect with his right leg.

The angel cried out again, blackness imposing itself upon his line of vision as the boulder, controlled by Sam's mind, pushed itself deeper and deeper into the canyon wall, crushing Dean's leg in the process. As his vision cleared and the sound of his brother's laughter reached his ears, the hunter decided that it was time to push back.

He turned himself away from the wall, wincing at the ease with which he was able to twist his now terribly broken leg. He spread his wings wide behind him, propping himself up against the wall of rock, and shoved against the boulder. It slowly moved from its spot, leaving a giant dent in the wall and sending warm blood cascading down into the gorge. Finally, Dean was free and sent the stone tumbling back toward the earth as he retreated farther into the canyon, broken leg flopping uselessly behind him as he flew.

He barely heard the sound of the boulder crashing behind him, but it was enough to make his heart stop. He'd heaved the freaking thing down towards his brother, and if Sam had been busy watching him fly away…

Deciding that it would probably be better to worry about his leg some other time, Dean turned sharply and headed back toward the last place he'd seen his brother. His stomach and leg were still leaking blood, leaving a bright crimson trail on the ground, a path that Sam had decided to follow after effortlessly pushing the boulder away mid-fall. Needless to say, the brothers met up long before either had expected.

Before he was even able to meet his little brother's eyes, Dean felt himself being pushed forcefully across the gorge to connect with another rock wall. He wasn't entirely surprised by the attack, though, and was able to spread his wings out wide behind him to prevent any breaks in the fragile bones.

He was pulled roughly down the wall by some invisible force until his feet were about two inches off the ground. Sam strolled over, twirling the machete in his hands and smiling at the extent of his handiwork.

"Wow," he marveled as he took in the sight of his crippled, bleeding older brother, "I must say, I never expected you to hold out this long. I mean, if you were still human, you'd be dead now from the stab wound alone. And even if you'd managed to survive, man, that leg would have to go. Honestly, I can barely even tell what it is anymore."

"Thanks for the evaluation, McDreamy," Dean smirked, his mind racing.

Sam laughed, a freakishly genuine noise considering the circumstances. "Man, I'm really gonna miss that humor. Oh well. Least I'm putting you out of your misery, 'cause that's gotta hurt."

Dean shrugged. "Not really. Actually, I'm fine."

"You won't be." He stepped forward, slashing out with the machete again and cutting a thin line across his brother's chest. He aimed for the left wing next, deciding to prolong the torture of imminent death by cutting away at the only things keeping his brother alive bit by bit.

The angel's cries filled the gorge as Sam sliced off the tip of the wing, sending feathers and blood cascading to the rocky ground. "They bleed?" the psychic asked, stepping back in surprise.

"What do you know," Dean marveled, watching as the bleeding stopped and the wing regenerated itself, "it grows back, too."

Sam didn't seem as pleased by this new revelation, though. He growled once, the noise resonating from deep in his throat as the machete sailed through air and buried itself in the side of Dean neck. This time, the angel couldn't fight off the darkness of death, and his body fell limp.

The psychic grinned, releasing his mental hold on his brother to turn the body around and get a better shot at the wings that had caused him so much trouble. He was unpleasantly surprised, however, when Dean's eyes snapped open and the angel kicked out with his good leg, sending Sam reeling back across the gorge to trip over a jutting rock and fall flat on his back.

Dean was on top of him in an instant, kneeling awkwardly over his brother's thrashing form, placing his hands on Sam's chest as if he were performing CPR.

Sammy tried to hit him again with the machete, but Dean knocked the weapon out of his reach with a flap on his wings. Sam glared at him before looking back towards the blade, reaching for it and willing it to come sliding across the gravelly floor just as his brother's hands began to glow.

Sam screamed as the healing process began, as the evil that had begun worming its way into his system the month before struggled to hold onto its host. He could feel it being pulled away, could feel his very being getting pulled apart by whatever force of good Dean was summoning, whatever force of good Dean had become.

He began bucking and bouncing, trying to push his brother off, trying to gain freedom, trying to shove the pain away and finish with the initiation. The force inside of him, the thing that had unlocked those abilities _needed_ him to kill. He tried again to summon the blade, but found that something was blocking him. It was something warm and good and pure.

"Come on, man," he heard Dean mutter as his world began to melt away in a swirl of red hot pain, "it's not done yet. They don't have you. Just come back."

He kept bucking, had to get away from the pain, had to get the angel off of him, but he was weakening. Whatever had been giving him strength over the past month, it was leaving, melting away, seeping away, blowing away in the soft breeze that was ruffling his brother's feathers. It was almost gone, he could feel it leaving.

He was warm for the first time since leaving Nebraska, and the warmth was radiating from Dean's hands, still clamped tightly over his chest, willing whatever had taken his brother to leave and never return. And it was gone, truly gone. Sam could feel it. His thoughts were his again. No vengeance, no death, no bloodlust. Just him and his brother, him and Dean, because that was all they had left. That was all that was important.

Dean finally pulled his hands away as a single tear traced itself down his brother's bloody cheek and Sam closed his eyes and smiled. It was only then that Dean realized that he was still bleeding. Bleeding from his chest and stomach and neck and leg. And he was tired.

Sam was safe, though, and that was all that mattered. Dean slid off of his brother's limp form and stood shakily up, testing his broken leg. Sammy had been right, it didn't even resemble any kind of human limb anymore. He'd have to fix that later. Right now, though, he was tired.

The angel slid to his knees, broken leg sticking out at an awkward angle as he fell onto his stomach, landing face-first on the canyon floor and stretching out a hand to the blood-soaked machete that lay near him. His fingers brushed the handle and rested there as Dean finally gave in and let death take him once more.


	9. Chapter 9

One chapter left guys. Keep your eyes open for "On Angel's Wings 3" after this one. I jsut finished typing it up yesterday!

* * *

"It sure is quiet down there," Claire mumbled as she paced through the tall grass that lined the gorge, "and that last scream didn't sound like the others."

"Relax, Claire," the demon grinned, "it was probably just a death-wail."

"Still," the healer said, shaking her head, "I mean, what if he faltered? What if the angel got to him first?"

"I hardly think that Dean Winchester is capable of killing his family. He'd kill _for _them, maybe, but he'd never turn against them."

"But what if he figured it out? What if he realized that the initiation isn't complete, and Sam can still be saved?"

The demon sighed, clearly annoyed. "You obviously haven't been reading the newsletter. He's not exactly the sharpest knife in the collection. He won't figure it out. We're safe."

Suddenly, the sound of crumbling rock and labored breathing reached their ears. They both stepped back, allowing the cult's newest member some room to breathe after his kill. Both demon and psychic were surprised, though, when the soft sound of flapping wings resonated throughout the area and Dean appeared before them, wounds trickling blood, broken leg buckling as he set down, an unconscious Sam in his arms.

"What did you do to him?" Claire demanded, eyes wide with shock.

"Nothing," Dean replied, thickly, "compared to what I'm about to do to you two."

Still holding his brother's limp form in his arms, Dean strode up to the demon, pulling the machete out from under his brother's body, where he'd been hiding it from view.

"What are you gonna do with _that_," the creature asked mockingly, "kill me?"

Dean smirked. "That's exactly what I'm going to do." He shoved the long knife deep into the demon's stomach, twisting it in order to get a grunt of pain from his victim.

"How?" it asked weakly as the yellow gleam began to fade from its stolen eyes and Claire began to shriek behind them.

"Simple," Dean grinned, "I blessed the blade."

The demon sank to its knees, its breath coming in hitches and gasps as it struggled to hold onto the kind of half-life that all evil things are forced to live.

Claire, still screaming, was also feeling the effects of her father's demise. She clutched madly at her stomach, where a large spot of blood was forming, and backed toward the cliff. She tipped over it, falling back into the gorge, still clutching at the immaculate wound, her yelps of pain trailing off as her life came to an end.

The demon was dying, too, finally, and Dean stood and watched it, keeping all of his weight on his good leg as he clutched Sam protectively to his chest. "You're done," he whispered as the evil creature reached up a weak hand toward him.

"It changes nothing," the demon replied with a rasping voice as its hand fell, "with me gone, Sam will have no reason to stay. You'll be all alone, no one to care. You're a freak, and you'll forever be treated like one." It took one last, labored breath before the body it had been inhabiting fell still.

After so many years of searching, after so much pain and loss, the demon that had forever ruined the Winchester family was dead, and Dean wasn't sure whether to be happy or scared. Sometimes, demons lie, but sometimes they don't.

o0o0o0o

It was probably the most disturbing thing he'd ever felt. Bone fragments were moving, rearranging, finding their proper place in his leg as he sat on the motel room bed, all of his other wounds already taken care of. He could feel his leg being put back together. Really cool, but really gross.

Needing a distraction, he looked back over at Sam. The younger man was pale, and sweat covered his forehead and soaked his clothes and sheets. But he was alive, and that evil vibe that Dean had been getting for the past few days was gone. Better yet, he could feel something else emanating from his brother now, something like gratitude. Sam was back, and he was happy about it.

Dean sighed and slid off the bed, testing his leg. Good as new. If he hadn't known any better, he'd say it had never even been crushed at all.

He made his way over to Sam's bed and placed a hand on his little brother's forehead. He was burning up, covered in sweat and Dean's blood, which contrasted painfully with his sheet-white skin. His breathing was labored and his pulse weak. Whatever Dean had done to save him had almost killed him.

"You did a good thing today."

Dean jumped and turned toward the glass doors that led onto the balcony. He could have sworn he'd closed and locked them before drawing the curtain to guarantee privacy, but now they were standing wide open, curtains billowing in the breeze and adding to the effect of seeing the young blond that Dean had run into that first day at the church.

"Who are you?" the hunter demanded, trying not to let his shock show as he moved to stand between the strange man and Sam.

The blond smiled, blue eyes radiating warmth. "Sorry. Name's Gabe. We, uh, we've met, remember?"

Dean nodded slowly. "You're the guy from the church."

"I'm the _angel_ from the church. The one who gave you those wings back."

"I guessed. You come to take them back?"

Gabe smiled. "You catch on quick. Yeah."

"So, what? I do exactly what you guys want, I kill the demon, save a lot of people a lot of pain, risk my life, and you just think it's ok to march in here, pat me on the back, and take everything away from me? I thought you said my prayers had been answered."

"I did. I just didn't specify _which_ prayers. You wanted to save Sam, and you were given the power to do that. You also asked to get your wings back, and you did, albeit for a limited period of time. It's time to give them up, Dean."

The hunter took a step back. "I killed that son of a bitch. You _used_ me to do it. You took advantage of me. Don't I get _something_?"

Gabe sighed. "You're bargaining."

"Humor me. Why don't I get something out of this?"

"It just doesn't work that way. You can't stay like this forever, Dean."

"Why not?"

"You just can't." The angel held out his hand toward the hunter. "Now, you can cooperate, or we can do this the hard way."

Dean glanced back at his brother. "Why can't I heal him?"

"Don't change the subject. Give me your hand."

"He's dying, isn't he?"

"Dean-"

"You're gonna take my wings, and then you're gonna take my brother. You're no better than that demon."

The angel stepped fluidly forward, intent on grabbing the man and showing him that some things were better left unquestioned, but stopped. He cocked his head to one side, listening, eyes growing wide as he looked Dean up and down. "All right," he smiled finally, "you got your wish. Somebody up there thinks you're awfully deserving."

"What?"

"One thing, Dean. Anything you want, short of manipulating human will and resurrecting the dead. You want that, go find a crossroads. Anything else, though, is yours. You can keep your wings."

Dean gulped, staring the angel in the eyes. Demons lied, angels didn't. "Anything?"

"Pretty much," Gabe grinned, knowing what the hunter would ask for.

Dean turned back to look at Sam. "Can you make him better?"

"Excuse me?" Ok, not what he'd expected to hear.

"Can you help him through this? Make him better?"

Gabe nodded. "Well, of course I could, but there's the small matter of your wings-"

"I want you to save him."

"What?"

"You said I could have anything. Anything I wanted. I want him to live."

"Dean," the angel smiled sadly, "come on."

"I want him to live," Dean said quietly. "Do it."

"I can't make him stay with you."

"I didn't ask you to. Just… just save him."

"It's dead now, Dean," Gabe pointed out, "there's no reason for him to-"

"You can bring Sam back. Yes, or no?"

The angel sighed. "I can, but-"

"I don't care about the wings, man, just do it."

Gabe nodded. "If you're sure." He walked past Dean to the bed and laid both hands on Sam's chest. The psychic's whole body began to glow with that same familiar golden light as his breathing eased and the color returned to his face.

"Well?" Dean asked as Gabe turned away from the bed.

"He'll be fine," the angel assured, "now, there's a pressing matter we need to attend to." He held out his hand once more and Dean reached for it slowly, neither of them noticing as Sam closed his eyes and truly passed out for the first time since arriving at the room.


	10. Chapter 10

All right, guys. Final chapter. As always, thanks a ton for reviewing, and keep your eyes peeled for the third installment, which should be up sometime this week.

* * *

Dean was gone. He'd been gone a lot since the angel had left. Sam had a pretty good idea why, and he didn't mind waking up sometimes to find himself alone.

Dean always came back. Sometimes he came back with food, something greasy that they really shouldn't have been eating, but Dean just laughed it off, assuring his brother that it wouldn't kill him.

Sam was sure of that. Nothing could kill Dean.

Climbing out of bed and stretching, Sam started packing. He needed to load up the car, needed to get a move on. He couldn't wait to slide in behind the wheel of the Impala, couldn't wait to leave the town with the gorge and the angels and the evil psychics far behind. He deserved better. He deserved _normal_.

He wasn't going to get it, though. Not as long as Dean needed him, not as long as that conversation was burned into his brain. Out of everything his brother had wanted, Sam's life had topped his list. That was something the young psychic didn't take lightly.

o0o0o0o

He looked down into the gorge. They hadn't found Claire's body. They probably never would. No one had even found the body the demon had been inhabiting, and Dean had been thoughtful enough to move it into the shade. He'd even said a little blessing over it, nothing special, just the first thing that had popped into his head. The poor man's soul deserved to be at rest.

Now, Dean stood at the edge of the gorge, looking down at the drop, his heart pounding as memories came rushing back. The angel saving Sam, taking Dean's hand. It had all happened so fast after that. The wings, the smile, the pat on the back. _"Someone's looking out for you, Dean. Someone thinks you're pretty deserving."_ It was about time.

Smiling widely, Dean threw his jacket to the ground beside him and dove head-first into the canyon, yelling as adrenalin coursed through his body and the ground came rushing up with incredible speed.

He almost wanted to hit the ground, to feel a little pain just to make sure he wasn't dreaming, that his life hadn't taken the turn he thought it had. It was too good to be true.

He'd actually let himself die a few days before, had lain in the bottom of the gorge, covered in blood, half of his body broken, just to know that he was alive. It wasn't a dream. Somebody up there really _did _like him. Somebody knew what he'd given up in his life, and had decided to give back a little. It was a good feeling.

Just before he hit the ground, mere seconds before he ate hard-packed dirt, Dean spread his wings and flapped them hard, sailing upwards with a speed he'd never imagined he could possess. For once, he'd gotten what he wanted.

o0o0o0o

"Where've you been?" Sam demanded as Dean burst through the balcony doors and tossed his jacket onto the bed.

"Out."

Sammy rolled his eyes. Oh well, it wasn't like he was covered in blood this time, so what did it really matter. "You ready to leave?"

Dean nodded, grabbing his jacket and struggling back into it as he grabbed three bags full of weapons and ammo and carried them effortlessly toward the door. "Sure you're up to it?"

"I'm fine. I'll live, remember?"

The elder grinned. "How could I forget?" Sam had been awake, he'd discovered, since Dean had killed the demon. He'd heard the whole conversation about the wings, had only blacked out right before Gabe's failed attempt to get them back. So, yeah, Psychic Boy had been a little surprised to find an angel hovering over him when he'd first come to.

The brothers left the room and headed out to the Impala, which had been faithfully waiting for them. "Where we going?" Sam asked as he popped the trunk and began loading bags in.

"I was thinking," Dean began, glancing around the abandoned lot before stripping his jacket off and throwing it into the trunk, "Nebraska."

"That's not funny, Dean."

"It's not a joke. The way I see it, that son of bitch is gone now, which means the Colt's up for grabs again. We need to find it, and Ash can help."

"How?"

Dean shrugged. "Not sure. He'll think of something, though."

Sam nodded, slamming the trunk shut and pulling open the driver's side door. "So, Nebraska it is."

The angel nodded. "Nebraska." He smirked. "Race ya."

And with that, Dean took off into the sunset, leaving Sam in the car, laughing harder than he had in a long while. No, he couldn't leave. Not now, not when his brother was finally starting to enjoy himself. Now, he would go to Nebraska. Now, he would follow Dean wherever the elder wanted, because he deserved that much, at least.

* * *

THE END.

Thanks again for all the support. On Angel's Wings 3 is coming soon!


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